


Where Do We Begin?

by shipsdrifting



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pining, They're basically all idiots and/or very confused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2310047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipsdrifting/pseuds/shipsdrifting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Clearly, if he's to follow Niall's lead, the protocol here is for both of them to pretend that they've never met, that they have no recollection of the events that unfolded between them that night.</em>
</p><p>  <em>Zayn takes a breath and sits up straighter. He can do this. Zayn can absolutely try to forget that night ever happened.</em><br/> </p><p>Or, Uni AU where Zayn and Niall start working next to each other - and they both kinda pretend that they've completely forgotten about that drunken but mind-blowing one-night-stand they had a month ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Do We Begin?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [horlik_aholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horlik_aholic/gifts).



> For horlik_aholic - it was quite a fun prompt, and I made some slight changes. I hope you like it! 
> 
> All the thanks and love to my beta for not judging me and for devoting much time and many read-throughs helping me make this better/less horrible.

_How am I gonna be an optimist about this?_

Zayn groans and blindly reaches at the alarm clock as the music thrums louder.

_How am I gonna be an optimist ab -_

He silences it with a satisfying smack. How about _no._ No, he is certainly _not_ going to be an optimist about this; waking up sucks, especially on Mondays. And so does that song - well, it's okay, but it's so overplayed and far too upbeat for this time of the morning, like most of the songs on this radio station. Which, he thinks begrudgingly as he sits up with a huff, is why he chose it for his alarm in the first place, instead of the kind of music he actually _likes_. He is awake, after all. Grumpy, but awake.

The traces of last night's storm have disappeared, and he squints at the unwelcome sunlight streaming through the window as he rolls out of bed. He pads into the kitchen and puts a slice of bread in the toaster while Louis eyes him from the table over a mug of tea.

"You're actually awake on time?" Louis asks in mock-astonishment. "You mean you might actually _not_ be late, for once?" Zayn gives a half-hearted eyeroll and grunts in protest, even though he might possibly have the reputation for being late to work a few times. Or more than a few.

He removes his toast and sets it on the table across from Louis.

"So, was it your wonderful new alarm clock that woke you so effectively this morning?" Louis continues.

"Fuck off,” he says through a mouthful of toast.

"What was that? Was that a, 'Thank you, Louis, Best Flatmate Ever, for having the _brilliant_ idea of setting my alarm with your favorite top-100 pop radio station.'" Louis beams proudly at his own poor approximation of Zayn's low, mumbly Bradford accent.

Zayn gives his best unimpressed glare. "Nope, pretty sure it was a 'fuck off.'”

Louis just grins, tapping his fingers against the mug before taking another sip. "Why are you so grumpy this morning? Did you have another _dream_ about your Mystery Shag?" he taunts sharply.

And Zayn's about to protest, but then a foggy image surfaces in his head and he realizes he _did_ , actually; for the first time in nearly two weeks, he had once again dreamt of the boy with the blue, blue eyes and blinding white smile and soft pink lips and fluffy blond hair. The boy had haunted his dreams every night for weeks following their one and only encounter last month, so much so that in a moment of weakness - slightly lovesick weakness - he had made the poor decision of confiding in Louis, who he knew would tease him mercilessly.

Despite his firmly etched memory of the beautiful boy, he really only remembers bits and pieces of that night. He doesn't even remember the boy's first name, although he knows they exchanged at least that much before exchanging frenetic blowjobs, messy kisses, rushed words in the darkness of Zayn's bedroom. He's tried so hard to remember the name - he thinks it started with an M or N, maybe? - but to no avail. He had been so, so drunk. Fuck, why had he been so drunk?

He sighs; he's gone over this in his head a million times. The boy probably wasn't interested in anything beyond their one-night-stand, really, or else he wouldn't have left so early in the morning while Zayn was still asleep, without making any effort at further communication. And what would Zayn even do if he somehow tracked him down, anyway? He knows how ineloquent he is when he's sober. As a matter of fact, he may have never mustered up the courage ask the boy to his bedroom that night if he hadn't been so staggeringly drunk. His life is a cruel catch-22.

He shakes his head. Louis is still eying him, one eyebrow arched, sharp blue eyes – what is it with these pairs of blue eyes out to torment him everywhere he goes? He steadfastly ignores Louis' gaze and stuffs the last of his toast into his mouth. It's time to go, anyway.

\----

Both pairs of blue eyes have left his mind by the time Zayn plops into his chair at the university’s Teaching Centre. It sounds fancy, but they're basically glorified, underpaid tutors crammed into pseudo-cubicles on the fourth floor of the building. Zayn, as a third-year Honours student majoring in English, is one of the English tutors, and he spends most of his time here proofreading essays for nervous first-years and trying to teach them the basic grammar and writing skills that most of them should really already know from secondary school. If he's lucky, he sometimes gets the slightly more interesting task of helping them analyze texts, too. It's a good job, rewarding enough even if it’s often frustrating; but he gets paid, and on slow days he has time to work on his own coursework or mess about on the internet, so he can't complain.

He's about to open his laptop when Perrie appears behind his desk holding a clipboard.

"Ugh, did you hear?"

 _“_ What?” Zayn shakes his head.

"So the top floor, where the Spanish department is, apparently got flooded with the storm last night. Part of the ceiling collapsed - not on any people, but they say it's ruined. Guess it's been leaking for a while and the whole floor was deemed unsafe or summat. So obviously the offices are getting relocated, but they had a few tutors, too. And so, they're stuffing them down here with _us_ for the time being.” She sighs.

The Teaching Centre had originated as a spacious English and writing help center, but a few years back, they had decided to add maths tutors, too, to have one central location. The place is already too crowded, packed densely with grids of identical desks; even though all the tutors work part-time, so at any point nearly half of the desks are empty, the air is always thick with words and letters and numbers. A handful of empty desks remain scattered throughout the room – in fact, Zayn occupies a spot along the side of the room, adjacent to one of them – but everyone still always has to talk over at least a couple of neighbours, especially during peak hours. And now, it will only get worse.

The door to the stairwell opens and a handful of students file in carrying boxes. Perrie, as one of the senior tutors and de facto administrative head, greets each of them as she writes on her clipboard and points to their new desks. Zayn peers through the gap in the back of his desk just as she assigns a kid in a red snapback and what appears to be an American flag tanktop. Zayn snorts. He looks like a stereotype of an American frat boy. Even if Zayn appreciates the view – he has to admit the guy has nice arms, and muscular shoulders, as he sets down his box. Perrie gestures sideways, behind the boy – roughly toward Zayn's direction, actually - and the boy whips his head around. And -

Oh.

It's _him._

Zayn could never forget this face, easy smile, brilliant eyes. Suddenly, everything that has been swirling around in his dreams for the past month settles in his mind with striking clarity. Zayn remembers eying him from across the crowded room of their house party, drawn in by his big eyes and big smile and big laugh. He remembers when the boy noticed, turned and threw a wink clearly directed toward Zayn, who hurriedly turned back away with what was probably an obvious blush. He remembers growing progressively more drunk, and less concerned about getting caught looking, and soon enough, they went from catching each other's eyes to just blatantly staring at each other, even through their separate, distant conversations. He remembers when Liam and Louis sidled off to get more drinks, finally leaving Zayn alone, and the boy immediately walked across the room to greet him, pressing one hand against the wall behind him to cage him in close and slurring an introduction, a _you're so pretty._

Zayn remembers the softness of the boy's hair in his fingers, the sweetness of his lips on his tongue, the warmth of his hands against his waist, the weight of his cock in his mouth just before he came with a muffled gasp against the bedroom wall. He'd immediately pulled Zayn up to wrap his arms around him and press their bodies together, kiss him deeply, and whisper against his lips: _God, you're perfect._

"Zayn?"

Perrie startles him from his thoughts with the impatient tapping of her pen against his desk.

"Did you hear me? You're not gonna be a lone wolf over here anymore. We're moving Liam – Payne, maths guy, you know him - to the one behind you. And another guy's moving next to you." Her eyes dart across the room before settling on a point by the door to the stairway. Zayn follows her line of sight with a feeling of dread, and sure enough, it's him.

"He's right there,” she points. “Irish lad, name's - "

 _Niall_ , Zayn recalls suddenly.

"Niall Horan. He's one of the Spanish department guys, you'll like 'im. Anyway... " she drifts off as she turns her attention to some commotion occurring on the other side of the large room. She sighs. "Gotta go."

And Zayn is left with - _this._ He rubs his palms against his forehead.

On the bright side, he'll have Liam. They'd met in a maths class a couple years ago, when Zayn was finishing up his minor in philosophy, and had realized that they had a mutual friend in Zayn's flatmate Louis. The three have been proper friends ever since; they go out to the pub most Fridays, hang out at their flat often enough to play FIFA or watch movies. He'd actually gotten this job on Liam's suggestion, and they sometimes eat lunch together when they're both around, too. He's a nice guy, and a good friend – a fact certainly not lost on Perrie, who almost definitely placed them together because she's always half-jokingly telling Zayn to be more social.

But then there's Niall, _Niall,_ who is rapidly approaching his desk and standing on tiptoes to look down at Zayn, even as he ducks down his head in a vain attempt to go unnoticed.

"Hi!" he greets brightly, and Zayn resigns to looking up with his best attempt at a friendly (but not _too_ -friendly) smile. He thinks he sees something strange, unrecognizable, flash over Niall's face, then - or maybe, more likely, Zayn is just projecting - but he quickly regains composure and wiggles his fingers over the top of the desk. "I'm Niall! I guess we're neighbours now!" he says cheerfully.

Zayn waits a beat, but Niall says nothing more, so he nods his head. "Yeah, I guess so. I'm Zayn."

"Well, nice to meetcha, Zayn!" he chirps over the desk. They look at each other in silence for a moment, but then Niall stoops back down and busies himself at his own desk.

 _Nothing._ Zayn doesn't know what he had been expecting, but. Nothing. A sour taste rises in his mouth as another part of that night surfaces in his mind. They're tangled in the bed, Niall stroking Zayn's face, eyes flicking between his eyes and lips, as he slurs, _God, I've never been with a guy before, but you're so damn pretty,_ before sweeping in to kiss him.

_Never been with a guy before._

Zayn's thoughts diverge into the two possible alternatives.

Maybe Niall had forgotten the experience, found it unmemorable enough that even his subconscious didn't bother recording it.

Or, if he does remember their drunken experience, then clearly it was just that. A little drunken experiment with a guy that he'd rather pretend never happened.

Perfect.

Niall pokes his head over the divider with a slightly sheepish smile.

"Sorry t' bother you, but I really need a wee. Where's the toilets down here?"

Zayn points down to the hallway with a curt, "over there," and despite his coolness, Niall thanks him with a grin and bounces away.

Clearly, if he's to follow Niall's lead, the protocol here is for both of them to pretend that they've never met, that they have no recollection of the events that unfolded between them that night.

Zayn takes a breath and sits up straighter. He can do this. Zayn can absolutely try to forget that night ever happened.

**\----**

Zayn tries. He can't _actually_ forget that night, but the closest thing he can do is to treat Niall just like he would any other neighbour and to do his best to ignore his presence around him.

But after only a few days, it becomes clear to him that ignoring Niall Horan is not an easy task.

Most of the time, they're not even in the office at the same time. Zayn is only taking two classes this semester and works a full 20 hours a week, but presumably Niall has a more full courseload, so he works less, and their schedules don't coincide except for a couple hours a day. But when they do, Zayn finds himself failing miserably at his plan of forgetting about Niall.

Even though they haven't interacted much beyond simple hellos and goodbyes, Zayn can just feel his warmth radiating from the other side of his desk. He can't help but overhear the way Niall interacts with his students; even though half the time they're speaking in Spanish, Zayn can still understand the effect Niall has on them, when they arrive at his desk nervous and shy, eyes averted, and leave laughing and speaking louder and with more confidence.

Because of _course_ Niall is that kind of person: the type who just shines his positive energy on everyone he meets. Zayn is fairly certain that he is made up of at least sixty percent sunlight.

And if he's running with that dumb metaphor, then Zayn is coming dangerously closer to getting sunburnt with each day.

When on Tuesday, Zayn senses movement behind him and turns to catch Niall rolling by on his desk chair, kicking his feet against the floor to propel himself backwards past Zayn's desk and giggling adorably as he does so.

When on Wednesday, Zayn catches him making faces through the slat in his desk wall after Zayn has a particularly exasperating argument with a student about whether punctuation is ever even necessary (it is). Zayn returns a tight smile and turns back to his own work.

When on Thursday, Niall touches him.

It's Liam's fault, really. Because of _course,_ Liam and Niall have immediately taken to each other as if they've been best mates for years. On Thursday, Zayn arrives late to find them in his cubicle, Liam in Zayn's chair, with Niall perched on his desk despite the presence of another chair. Zayn gulps and searches his brain for an excuse to tell them to leave. But no students are waiting for help, and he can't be mean to them now, with both of their big, innocent eyes looking up at him. And if he tried something subtle, they'd probably both be too oblivious to notice. He sighs.

Liam waves and motions him to the empty chair. “I was just telling Niall he should come to lunch with us today,” he enthuses. He turns to Niall. “We usually just go to the cafe or the union, unless you wanna go to the dining hall, or something - “

 _“_ Dining hall!” Niall's eyes light up. “Why would you go anywhere else when you can get _unlimited_ food?”

Liam glances at Zayn amusedly. “Is that okay with you?”

 _“_ Sure.”

 _“_ Are you sure?” Zayn tries to tell him to drop it, but he just grins and turns back to Niall. “Zayn's kind of a uni food hipster, to be honest. Thinks the dining hall's too mainstream.”

 _“_ What, and Subway and Costa aren't?” Niall's eyes glint, and Liam laughs while Zayn rolls his eyes. “ _Unlimited_ food, Zayn!”

 _“_ Yeah, crap food. And twice the price,” he turns his nose disdainfully. “And who even eats enough to make it worth it?”

\----

It turns out, Niall eats enough to make it worth it. After a while, Liam and Zayn – who, he thinks begrudgingly, actually ate a decent meal - just watch above their empty plates as Niall wolfs down his fourth full plate of food. “I like to eat,” he shrugs through a mouthful of pasta, and he grins goofily up at them.

So the lunch itself is fine. It's on the walk back that he accidentally bumps his shoulder into Liam, who bumps into Niall, who pokes Liam back, and somehow it devolves into a whole _thing_ , with Liam shoving Niall in the side, Niall attempting to hop on Liam's back for a piggy-back ride, Liam laughing and shaking him off and then coming for Zayn's hair. “But it's so _soft_ ,” he whines as Zayn grabs his wrists to restrain them.

Until Niall takes the opportunity, while they're distracted, to come up behind Zayn and ruffle his hair himself.

Zayn’s grip loosens around Liam's arms and he freezes, momentarily stunned, until Liam squawks.

 _“_ No fair! You let _him_ touch your hair?”

Niall grins. “You're right, it is soft.” _You already knew that_ , Zayn thinks.

Too late, he ducks away in protest. Niall is still grinning at him in a way Zayn can't quite place.

 _“_ He doesn't like anyone to mess it up,” Liam explains. “You know, gotta keep up the perfect quiff to go with the rest of the chiseled features.” Liam pokes his cheek, and Zayn rolls his eyes.

 _“_ He tries to deny it, but it's true,” Liam turns to Niall. “Doesn’t he have the most perfect jawline?”

 _“_ And those eyelashes,” Niall joins in with a grin. “He's got some great eyelashes, doesn't he?” When Zayn doesn't react, he pokes him in the face too quickly for him to react. “And those cheekbones.”

Liam nods in agreement, clearly delighted to have an ally, and they fuss over him while Zayn wishes for a portal to appear beneath his feet and swallow him up into another dimension, one where his best friend is not oblivious or Niall Horan doesn't confuse him so much.

\----

After that, something changes. Niall starts coming by his desk more often, seemingly to talk about nothing. Later that afternoon, he comes in asking to borrow a stapler (“una grapadora,” he says at first, and he forces Zayn to keep guessing until he figures out what it is). On Friday, he rolls in at least four times to talk or ask questions or just spin around in his chair. At first Zayn tries to stay aloof, but when he doesn't answer to Niall's satisfaction, he gets a poke in the side or the stomach or the face.

Which he can't deal with, so he talks to him and tries not to overthink the fact that Niall seems to revel in _touching_ him. It's easy enough to rationalize, though, since Niall acts like that with everyone. After all, he was just practically hanging off Liam's shoulders like a monkey. Clearly it's just his way of being friendly. Or cruel. One of the two.

Luckily, the weekend comes around, and he holds on to the last tenuous grasp of sanity; he doesn't let his thoughts fully fall into the bottomless pit of Niall Horan. He goes drinking with Liam and Louis, only gets slightly sloshed, and spends the weekend in a neat Niall-free bubble. Maybe he has a crush, still. _Maybe_. But he still holds his last shreds of control.

**\----**

Unfortunately, that changes on Monday. Zayn has just finished helping a fairly fluent but still exasperated non-native-English-speaker with her essay (yes, “peek,” “peak,” and “pique” are all different words despite sounding the same, and no, the English language does not make any sense whatsoever), when Niall's voice sounds.

 _“_ Hey,” Niall pops his head over the desk so he can see Liam over Zayn's desk. “I think my mate Harry's coming by today. He's taking some kind of maths class - I guess he missed a few days, and he's completely lost, and the professor's not in this week, so I told 'im to come see my favorite maths tutor.” Liam grins dopily at that.

 _“_ What class is it?” he preens.

 _“_ Numbers and Logic, I think he said. Sounds like a dumb class, if I'm honest, but it must be harder than it sounds.” Zayn snorts and looks over at Liam, whose smile is faltering a bit now.

The thing is, Liam is an engineering student. He's well-versed in the applied maths that comes with his coursework: calculus, differential equations, statistics, physics. But he's kind of useless when it comes to theory, precisely the stuff covered in Numbers and Logic. Zayn knows this because he and Liam took exactly that course together two years ago, Liam as a maths elective, and Zayn for his philosophy minor. Liam only narrowly passed, and only after a large deal of help from Zayn, and afterwards he vowed to never even think about contradictions or prime numbers or divisibility ever again. Liam hasn't signed up to tutor for that particular course, so it's not usually a problem, but he can't really escape it now when Niall's friend is coming to see him specifically.

Harry arrives an hour later, tall and lanky with curly brown hair and concern in his wide green eyes. “Um, are you Liam?” he asks, his voice low and unsure. Liam puts on a brave face while Zayn listens with amused anticipation.

Sure enough, Liam's voice grows louder and more exasperated as he desperately tries to figure out how to help Harry and pretend to know what he's saying. Suddenly a knock sounds against the divider they share, and from the corner of his eye, Zayn sees him clandestinely peek over the side his desk. He makes pleading eye contact before turning to loudly talk to Harry.

 _“_ Er, I know Niall told you to come to me, but I actually, uh, have a class now, soon.... But, my mate Zayn, he's right next to us over here, and he's brilliant at this stuff, maybe he can help you out instead?”

Then the two appear his desk, Liam with begging eyes, Harry looking apologetic and even more confused and running a hand up the back of his curls. Zayn sighs as if he hadn't predicted this from the moment Niall mentioned the name of the class. “Oh, alright, sure.” Liam scurries off to who knows where, and Harry sits in the extra chair and starts again with his questions. It's near the beginning of the term, and Zayn remembers the topics pretty well, but Harry seems completely lost.

 _“_ So,” Zayn starts, “remember all these theorems you'll have now are based on the ones you've already done. I know a lot of them seemed like common sense, but you need to keep them in your mind so you know to apply them when they fit in.” Harry nods.

 _“_ You already went over the different types of proofs. Remember you don't usually want to go straight from premise to conclusion; most of the time you end up using a contradiction, or contrapositive - basically assuming the opposite of what the theorem says, and showing that that _can't_ be true.”

Zayn continues. “Let's do this one first – the square root of 2 is irrational. This one's a classic.” Harry nods tentatively. Zayn guides him through the proof, actually fairly impressed at how Harry dutifully fills in the pieces Zayn asks him.

 _“_ It's like a maze, kinda,” Zayn explains, when they finish and Harry gives a slight grin for having understood the process. “You just have to figure your way out.”

 _“_ I just dunno how I could think of all that on my own, though.” Harry admits.

 _“_ You just have to do enough of them, and you'll get more used to it.” Harry nods, unsure.

They proceed to go through a few more theorems and proofs. Harry grows tentatively more comfortable with them and starts doing most of the writing while Zayn just sits back.

 _“_ See, I think you're getting the hang of it now,” Zayn tells Harry after they finish the last one in the short section of class material, and Harry beams as he starts to gather up his stuff.

 _“_ Thanks for all your help,” he drawls. “Sorry to bother you, I know you're supposed to be an English tutor, but you're really helpful; I think I understand a lot better, now. Thanks.”

 _“_ No problem,” Zayn says, and Harry smiles his goodbye, stopping briefly to say hello to Niall before he trots off to his next class. Zayn turns back to his erase all the maths off of the small whiteboard he keeps on his desk.

Moments later, Niall comes rolling on his chair around the corner to Zayn's cubicle.

 _“_ Hey, what happened with Liam?”

Zayn turns around and snorts. “He told Harry he had an appointment or class or something. But he didn't, obviously,” he adds hurriedly. “He's just useless at this kind of stuff, more of a mathy-maths guy, you know, calculus and stuff, not so much the theory stuff.”

 _“_ Ah – well, sorry he pawned him off on you.” Niall still looks apologetic.

 _“_ Well, it was worth it to see how flustered he was,” Zayn chortles to reassure him. “Now he owes me, for sure.” Niall barks out a laugh at that before clapping Zayn on the shoulder.

 _“_ You were brilliant, though. I didn't know you were a maths prodigy, too.”

Zayn feels his face flushing. “No, it's nothing. I just took that class for my philosophy minor, and I remember a bit, is all.”

Niall gives him a look. “You know I can hear you from my desk, right? You're brilliant; you know everything. And how to teach it well, too.”

 _“_ I wasn't – I've taken the class before, it's not that hard - “

 _“_ Don't sell yourself short like that,” Niall reprimands and pokes him in the side for good measure. Zayn ignores the spark that pulses through his body. “You're a maths genius, and that's final.” He cocks his head. “You know, everyone thinks you're just this quiet, brooding guy, but really you're just kinda reserved. Like you save it for when you really need it, and then you're just brilliant.”

Zayn tries to roll his eyes, but he can't help the small smile that escapes on his lips as he looks up at Niall's face, which bears a strange expression – proud, almost, with eyes glazing over a bit. They seem to stare at each other for a beat too long before Niall bids goodbye and scoots on his chair back to his own desk.

\----

Zayn isn't the type to fall in love just because someone gives him a compliment. He's _not._ But somehow the experience puts into startling focus everything he knows about Niall, condenses it all into a beam of light that just melts his stoic facade like butter.

He's maybe, kind of in love, and he can't just ignore it anymore. He feels it inside flowing out from Niall's desk and threatening to engulf him; he feels it in his class, rising up like steam from his textbooks; he feels it on his walk home, pouring out from the cracks in the pavement beneath his feet.

Zayn has really, really tried to keep these thoughts at a minimum, as if acknowledging them in his mind or out loud might make them more real. He definitely hasn't said anything to Louis. He'd reminded himself that it's only a crush, a crush not even worth thinking or talking about, a crush he is absolutely getting over. But now that it's flooding over him like this, he can't stop thinking about it, can't keep it from infiltrating every crevice of his life. So that evening, one week after Niall Horan came back into his life, over takeout Chinese food and a bottle of cheap wine, Zayn finally caves and tells Louis.

He regrets it almost immediately, Louis grinning with unbridled delight, talking about destiny and fate, asking wholly inappropriate questions and poking him in the ribs when he doesn't answer satisfactorily. No, they have not fucked in the bathroom, nor on either of their desks. No, they're not partaking in fantasy teacher-student roleplaying. Zayn attempts to recover his aloof indifference, as if he doesn't really just want to gush about Niall's arms and his eyes and his smile – no.

"He doesn't even remember," Zayn states matter-of-factly, trying to keep his voice even, because it's true, even if his own heart is anything but calm – he can't control that. "And as far as the world is concerned, neither do I."

"Oh, I doubt that," Louis says with that damn mischievous light in his eye. "You, Zayn Malik, dreamboat of the university? In fact, I'd quite like to meet any bloke you think could resist you - "

"Don't you dare," Zayn warns.

\----

Zayn's dreams contain a swirl of Niall, Harry and himself, along with something about giant equations floating in the air. The next morning, he wakes up before his alarm, strangely refreshed, and he finds himself reaching a kind of peace with his situation. Maybe it's something about the neat clarity of maths, but he realizes that he doesn't really _know_ anything about Niall. Not for sure, at least; he hasn't actually _proven_ anything.

Maybe he'll just – ask him. They're mates now, basically. Niall has sort of been flirting with him – well, at least, he couldn't blame Zayn for construing it as flirting, even though he hasn't actually _said_ anything. But maybe he's shy with this kind of stuff, or he's waiting for Zayn, for some reason. Zayn can just ask him if he remembers, ask what he thought. Maybe now that he actually knows Zayn, he'll be willing to – _something_. Zayn should ask him. The simple thought, the most simple and obvious of solutions, sends a jolt of adrenaline through his body, and he has to take a slow breath to calm himself. But he can do it, maybe. On Friday, if they keep this up the rest of the week, maybe Friday – Liam doesn't come in until after lunch, so maybe they could have lunch together.

Sure, Niall probably doesn't like him like that, and he'll probably end up a little heartbroken, but in the worst case, at least they can stay friends. And the simplest way – the only way, even – to prove anything is to just ask. Besides, he convinces himself, anything is better than not knowing; at least if he knows for sure, he can go back to licking his wounds in peace.

\----

The week passes in a blur, and by Thursday, Zayn is still set on his plan – he's even hyped himself up for it.

He's also still assuming that Louis may have actually heeded his warning forbidding him from entering the Teacher Centre and carrying out whatever demented plot was half-baking in his meddlesome brain. In fact, he's almost forgotten the possibility even exists, when, in lost in the mid-morning quiet, he looks up too late to see a widely grinning Louis, single sheet of paper flapping in hand, strolling up to his desk.

He grits his teeth. "Louis, I told you - "

"Zayn! Fancy meeting you here! Convenient, innit - I was just dropping by to get a bit of last-minute help on my assignment." He waggles his eyebrows.

"Great, just talk to Perrie over there and she'll get someone to help you -"

"Oh, no, you can't possibly be so rude," he quirks his eyebrows. He places his paper down with a flourish and proceeds to stand on his tiptoes to very non-covertly peer at the surrounding desks. Luckily, Niall isn't there yet, but judging by last Thursday, he will be, soon. Well, it's not like Zayn has memorized Niall's schedule already, or anything, because that would be creepy. But. He just _thinks._

Louis seems unsatisfied with his survey of the surroundings, and for a moment Zayn thinks he might just leave and the whole thing might end here.

"Louis," he hisses, motioning for him to come closer. "He's not here, ok? So just - " naturally, Niall chooses that moment to enter, and Zayn's eyes betray him when they flit up for just an instant. Louis whips around with a toothy grin.

"Hey, Zayn," Niall chirps before setting down his rucksack. After a moment he must notice Louis, and the thick silence, because he pokes his head over the divider and says, "sorry mate, carry on," before settling back down.

"Louis was just leaving," Zayn growls, but Louis just smiles wanly.

"But I forgot to ask - did I spell 'infatuation' correctly, here?" Zayn is going to murder him. "A big word, that." He smirks.

"I'm serious. Fuck. Off."

Louis just grins cheekily, a challenging glint in his eyes. “Hey, what are you doing for lunch now? Isn't it about your break time?”

 _“_ No, and nothing – I'll eat later, I'm finishing a project.”

 _“_ Project's not due until tomorrow,” Louis clucks, and then he actually pulls his feet up and stands up on the chair where he's been sitting, holding the edge of the desk for balance as it spins precariously beneath his feet. “Hey Liam – and Niall, is it? You wanna go get lunch with me and Zayn?” he says loudly, and Zayn contemplates just shoving him off the chair, preferably onto Liam's mug of freshly sharpened pencils.

 _“_ Sure!” Niall enthuses. “Actually, I was just gonna drop off my stuff and meet my mate Harry – you remember him – and we were gonna go to the dining hall now after his class. Lemme text him and we can meet up?”

\----

Lunch starts out cordially enough. Even if Zayn throws daggers every time Louis catches his eye, the rest of them make up for it. They all settle at a large table, with Zayn, Liam and Louis across from Niall and Harry. Harry teases Niall for getting so much food even though he'd just got a sandwich before coming into the tutoring center and promptly leaving for more food. Liam giggles and recounts the story of everything Niall ate when they came here last week. It also becomes apparent that Louis is struggling between gently interrogating Niall and taking sly glances at Harry, which. _Interesting._

Almost immediately after he's taken his first bite of salad, he notices two girls giggling from a table across the room. Finally one of them stands up and walks over to their table, clearly eying Harry, as the other watches. Zayn glances at Louis, who looks ready to attack the girl, and they both look at Niall, who just looks thoroughly amused. He must notice the three boys looking at him expectantly, because he gives a light eye-roll and mouths, “here we go again.” The girl giggles a little and smiles brightly as she greets Harry.

 _“_ Hi, uh. Harry, right? I think you were in my English class? I'm Emily.” Harry, to his credit, grins wide, dimples and all.

 _“_ Of course, I remember you – you used to make all those comments about Shakespeare, right?” The girl smiles like she's about to let out a squeal, but she doesn't; she just blushes a bit and flicks back her hair.

 _“_ Well, my friend and I were wondering – cause she thinks you're like, really cute - uh, are you single?” This time, Harry blushes a little, a gentle smile still on his face.

 _“_ Thanks,” he rumbles, “but – well, yeah, I'm single, but, uh, unless your friend happens to be a guy, I'm afraid I'm not really, interested.“ He bites his lip and smiles.

 _“_ Oh, I – oh!” The girl's eyes widen in surprise, but Harry is clearly trying to put her at ease with another smile. It only partially works - “Well, now I'm embarrassed,” she says and then giggles a little, and stammers out. “Sorry! I didn't know – but, I mean, cool, okay! Sorry, I'll let you get back to lunch – uh, good luck with everything.” She starts to back away.

 _“_ That's alright, you too - see you around, Emily.”

Zayn looks around the table. Louis' eyes are actually glued to Harry with an intent stare Zayn has never seen on him before, at least when sober. Niall, on the other hand looks like he's about to burst out laughing. And he does, once the girl is out of earshot.

 _“_ Heyyy,” Harry grins bashfully. “She was nice! And that was brave of her - it's not her fault she didn't know!”

 _“_ Yeah, but, it always happens to you – and your face!” Niall resumes his cackling.

Harry pokes his arm and looks at him with a mock gasp. “I know you don't think it's _that_ funny, when you know how many dates you've gotten from my rejects. Sad, dejected, needing some good old Nialler comfort - “

Niall isn't laughing now. Neither is Zayn, because. He did not need to know that. Harry must notice the silence at the table, because his eyes grow comically wide with concern.

 _“_ I'm sorry! I didn't mean - I mean, I know it isn't true,” he adds hurriedly. “I know you don't really _need_ that. I know it's only happened, like, twice, and they were lovely girls, and they would've gone out with you anyway - I'm sorry. Like, really – of _course_ you don't need that.“ He looks around the table, and Zayn doesn't miss the way his eyes flit over Louis for just a bit longer than anyone else, and then he looks down and blushes. “I mean, you're like the most charming, confident guy in the world anyways. _You're_ the one who goes up to people, like that girl did, and just asks – like, you're just amazing.”

 _“_ Harry - “

 _“_ I know you don't think so, but I always think, 'I wanna be more like Niall,' Ya know, all confident and fearless, just going for it, putting yourself all out there, no fear of rejection - water off your back, like. Like at that party - “

_“Harry.”_

Harry shrugs. _“_ I just wish I could be more like that.” He's blushing as he rambles, and somewhere in Zayn's mind he registers the way that Louis and Harry's eyes have met each other, but mostly, his brain is just filling with red.

Fearless and confident, right. Putting himself out there, not afraid to ask for what he wants.

In that case, leaving the morning after, never even mentioning it to Zayn again – that's a pretty clear sign. If Niall asks for everything he wants, that means that if he _doesn't_ ask, he really _doesn't_ want. The sudden confirmation makes his stomach turn.

He almost wants to laugh at the clarity of it all, the orderly logic pounding itself out in his chest. If Niall wants someone, then he asks. Niall hasn't asked Zayn. Therefore, Niall doesn't want Zayn. It's laughably simple, and why did Zayn ever even think any different? What would Niall want in him, anyway? The worst part is he let himself believe he might have a chance, and now he's left with this. He doesn't know what he thought, but he knows that he can't deal with Niall right now, bright blue eyes now eying him with a tinge of concern.

He didn't have to go and act so goddamn friendly, to convince Zayn that maybe he actually had a chance. The thing is, he knows by now that Niall honestly _is_ just genuinely that friendly, so he can't even be mad at him. But he can steer clear of him, at least.

He feels himself pushing his chair backwards as he rises. “I have to go,” he mumbles. “Have to finish that project.”

And if they're confused, or concerned, or whatever they think of him, he doesn't stay long enough to find out. He turns swiftly, tosses out his half-full tray, and leaves.

\----

He ignores Niall for the rest of the day, instead working on his project – which _is_ a real project, even if it's not quite as important or time-consuming as he's made it out to be. He sees Niall appear behind his desk a few times out of the corner of his eye, but he ignores him each time, and Niall eventually just goes away.

That's basically his long-term plan, really – his original plan, in fact, back on track. Ignore Niall enough that he just _goes away_. He might even ask Perrie on Monday if he can move closer to the other English tutors. It doesn't even make sense that he's next to tutors in maths and Spanish instead of the same as him. No sense at all.

Friday morning, he doesn't acknowledge Niall when he walks past his desk. He keeps his headphones on all day when he isn't with students. He hardly even speaks to Liam when he pops his head over the desk to ask how it's going.

 _“_ Fine. Busy.”

He helps his dumb students with their dumb problems, proofreads some papers, and finishes his own project. Operation Ignore Niall and He Will Go Away is on track to be a rousing success.

Unfortunately, Liam does not seem to have gotten the memo.

 _“_ Hey, Niall,” he hears Liam say at Niall's desk, over the low music in his headphones. “Louis, Zayn and I usually go out to the pub Friday nights – you wanna come?”

 _“_ I would,” Niall says, maybe more carefully than usual. “But I think I was gonna go out with Harry tonight. He always thinks he needs a wingman, the baby.” He chuckles, Zayn can hear his eyeroll from here.

 _“_ Well – hey, why don't you both come out with us? You think Harry'd be up for it?”

Zayn mentally plunges his pen into his ear and through his brain.

 _“_ He would, but, uh, we don't have to - “

 _“_ No, you should! It'll be brilliant! Tonight at 8. I'll text you.” Liam's eagerness leaves no room for dissent.

 _“_ Hey Zayn, you hear that? All of us are going out tonight, yeah?”

 _“_ Great,” he replies flatly. Watching Niall pick up Harry's rejected female attention might be the thing in the world that he needs the absolute least right now. Except for maybe, like, Ebola. Then again, at least that would kill him faster.

Maybe he can tell them he's sick, skip out. It's not a terrible idea.

"Absolutely _not_ ," Louis intones sternly when Zayn arrives to their flat and suggests as much, meekly easing into the lie that his stomach has been hurting all day and he's not quite feeling up to going out tonight. "I will not let you be a baby about this."

"But - "

"No. If you're too sick to come," he grins menacingly, "I'll tell them we should keep you company, like good _pals_ would, yeah, and we can just drink here. How'd that be?"

"No!" Zayn yelps, because being with Niall in this flat, again, would be an even bigger disaster. Louis smirks with pride.

"Now go get dressed."

\----

Zayn proceeds to get very drunk very quickly.

They all do, really. It's awkward at first, with Liam distressedly trying to maintain a conversation with everyone at the table, and every attempt ending up in a bout of awkward silence or a side conversation between Harry and Niall. Zayn placates him with one-word answers and steadily avoids eye contact with everyone. Both Niall and Louis had been giving him distinct looks, Louis' irritatingly pointed and Niall's worried, but apparently his scowl had successfully warded off further prodding. Excellent.

Luckily, alcohol soon erases most of the awkwardness that had been looming. Within an hour, Zayn just takes to half-boredly, half-amusedly watching the scene. Liam seems less concerned over keeping conversation with the group, and he progresses to just pounding his fist on the table, yelling to himself over the merits of the different buses that run from his flat to the university. Niall just laughs at him with glee and continues downing glasses of whisky. Louis laughs too, though he and Harry have progressed from shyly to blatantly staring at each other, and Zayn's pretty sure that they're touching feet under the table, too.

Drunk Liam must be even more oblivious than Sober Liam, if that's possible, because he seems surprised when Harry excuses himself to the toilet and Louis follows him.

 _“_ Where're they going?” He sounds bemused, and Niall snorts.

 _“_ Think they're going to the toilets, they said?” When Liam still looks confused, Niall cracks up, looking at Zayn to share in the hilariousness of Liam's terrible naivete. Zayn fights to school his growing smile back into a scowl and sips his drink until Niall turns away.

Liam furrows his eyebrows. “Why aren't they coming back?” Niall – bless him, Zayn thinks begrudgingly – pats him on the hand.

 _“_ They will, don't worry. Probably a long line.” Liam seems placated but keeps looking around the room until his eyes settle on a brunette girl by the bar laughing with her friends. He thinks he's being discreet, which would be hilarious if Zayn could share the moment with anyone besides Niall.

 _“_ She's hot,” Niall finally comments to break the silence, and Liam cocks his head and blushes a bit. “All of ‘em are.” Niall waggles his eyebrows and Liam finally seems to understand.

 _“_ I need another drink,” he slurs. “Wanna come with me to the bar?” Something sour settles in Zayn's throat when Niall nods, but he swallows it back down.

They rise, and before they can leave him alone, Zayn mumbles a quick, “I'm going to get some air,” and heads for the door without looking back.

\----

Zayn doesn't know how long he sits on the bench outside the bar, angrily kicking at pebbles on the ground.The alcohol settles in his veins and the whole night becomes kind of a blur as he watches couple after couple stumble out the door, giggling, sometimes stopping to glare back at him when they catch him watching.

But at some point, it's Niall who stumbles out the door; he looks around before his eyes find Zayn on the bench.

 _“_ What're you doing _moping_ out here?” he slurs. He sounds drunk, and also vaguely angry, which Zayn has never heard in him before.

 _“_ What are _you_ doing out here?” he retorts. “Why aren't you in there chatting up a girl to take home?” His voice comes out more bitter than he intended, and Niall's eyes widen in irritation.

 _“_ What, 'r you _jealous?_ A laugh, that is. One night, and you're the one that never called _me?”_ Maybe the Irishman can hold his liquor, but apparently when it hits him, it hits him _hard,_ because he's slurring and stomping his feet and that doesn't even make sense – Zayn _couldn’t_ have called him.

 _“_ So you remember?” Zayn tries to clear his fuzzy head. “I wasn't sure. I mean, I know it didn't mean anything to you, either way, but still.” It comes out sharp, accusatory, but Niall just blinks and says nothing. “Whatever,” Zayn turns away.

 _“_ Mean anything? Ha. Y'know how many weeks it took for me to stop fuckin' _dreaming_ about you? Your eyelashes, your lips, that tattoo on your hip...” His voice has grown considerably softer, and Zayn stays frozen. Is Niall mocking him? Did Louis tell him to say that? Or is it just some kind of drunken, unhappy coincidence? Or is part of it true -

He looks at Niall, finally, and Niall startles, eyes widening like a frightened animal. “Oh, shit. Sorryyy. Sorry. Shit. I'm gonna be sick - “ he turns as if to vomit, but nothing comes out. They stay like that for a few minutes, Zayn silent except for the spinning inside his head, and Niall swaying a bit and staring at the ground. When he turns back, he looks worried and sweaty and decidedly queasy, and it's the most miserable than Zayn has ever seen him. “I don't feel good.”

And Zayn curses the fact that a helpless Niall makes his whole steely facade crumble. Maybe it's because he's drunk, but in a moment, he doesn't even care if the boy was mocking him; he just wants to wrap him up in a blanket until he feels better. “Hey, my flat is just a few blocks, we can go there.” Niall just looks at him, eyes wide. “C'mon, let's go,” he practically coos, and holds out his hand, and Niall nods dumbly.

The walk back to his flat is punctuated by groans as Niall shuffles beside him like a puppy, looking alternately scared and nauseous. Every once in a while, he starts talking to himself, saying things about friendship and notes and _telling_ that Zayn really can't make sense of, especially with the painful pounding inside of his own head.

At one point, they reach a street corner and Niall starts giggling – just giggling to himself, at something he said, for no reason - and Zayn watches him and laughs, part in discomfort and part at the absurdity of the whole thing. But Niall grips his shoulders with a serious face.

 _“_ You should laugh more,” he says, solemnly and then softening. “It makes you look all – happy. And smile. Or not, 'cause that serious, moody face is also, just, like - “ he tries to make his face look serious, but it ends up looking like an exaggerated pout. Then he makes a vague motion with his hands, and then his eyes glaze over a bit and he drifts off.

He sways with confusion when Zayn goes to start crossing the street, and Zayn takes his hand, carefully stopping from thinking too much about it. They stay like that, hand in hand, until they reach the flat.

The couch is covered in clothes and an open bag of crisps, and Zayn curses and goes to clean it off. But Niall just shuffles onward toward Zayn's room and sits on the corner of the bed.

 _“_ He took you back, 'cause he's your friend, and... “ he stops nodding his head back and forth, and his eyes widen when they find Zayn entering the room. “Zayyyn.” He smiles crookedly and his face softens. “C'mere,” he pats the foot of the bed beside him, and Zayn sits, not too close.“Zayyyn. You're wonderful.” Zayn just blinks dumbly and watches as Niall's face goes from easy to sad. His eyes are big and watery. “Why didn't you text me, or call me?”

 _“_ Niall, I didn't have your number, or I – I would have,” he says softly, reassuringly.

Niall blinks. “But you did, though.” He frowns, and then his expression turns from sad, to nauseous, to scared, and finally his eyes narrow into a pout. “Kiss me?” he asks suddenly. “Just one kiss?”

 _“_ Niall, I don't know...”

 _“_ Please?”

He looks so pitiful and small, and his voice comes out as a squeak, but he's still beautiful, and to be honest Zayn really does want to kiss him. So he settles on a soft “ok,” gulps and leans over to kiss him, soft and chaste. That seems to mollify him for a moment, a dreamy smile appearing on his face, and Zayn mumbles that he needs to go to the bathroom because – well, for one, it's true, but also his head feels like it's full of cotton, and he just _kissed Niall,_ and he worries that at this rate they'll end up with more than that kiss, when they're both drunk – and Niall certainly wouldn't want this if he weren't.

Zayn doesn't know how long he stands watching the sink run. He splashes water on his face and takes a breath before he dares to step into the hallway back toward the bedroom. He finds Niall curled up fast asleep on the foot of the bed. He sighs and quietly covers the sleeping boy with the foot of the quilt before quietly placing his phone and keys on the nightstand beside him and sliding into his side at the head of the bed, far from Niall, clothes and all, and soon enough his own sleepy inebriation takes over.

\----

The first thing he realizes is that Niall spent the night. He took Niall home and – wait – well, they kissed, but only once; then they just slept. Good.

The second thing he realizes is the absence of weight at the foot of his bed. He lifts his head to look, and sure enough, Niall is gone. Again. His door is closed and Niall is gone.

Zayn lets out a whimper and blindly reaches for his cell phone on his nightstand, doesn't realize he's touching it until he hears it slip off the edge and fall on the floor, and, by the sound of it, rustle a paper on the way down.

He curses silently, but in a moment his brain catches up. He freezes.

The third thing he realizes is that last night, Niall kept asking why Zayn never called him, kept talking about a note. It seemed somehow acceptably nonsensical at the time when it rolled through his inebriated brain, but now seems slightly suspicious. Niall never left a note, needless to say – or at least, Zayn never found one. Maybe Niall was lying, for some reason Zayn can't figure out now. Or maybe -

Zayn has never been great at waking up in the morning. His bosses, teachers, and certainly Louis can vouch for that. But he also might have a habit of knocking things off his nightstand in his morning, as a result of his morning grogginess and grumpiness when he reaches to grab his phone or hit the alarm. He's lost his wallet that way more than once - enough that he started putting it on his dresser, far away from the bed, instead, after a frantic day when he didn't even notice and spent all day searching for it at home and in classrooms.

The point is, he's been known to lose things behind his nightstand.

He gulps and turns on his stomach to reach down and fish for his phone. Instead, he comes up with two things: his phone and a yellow piece of lined paper from the notepad he keeps on his desk but never uses. He almost cringes as he turns it over.

The penmanship is loopy and scrawled, and Zayn's vision blurs as he skims what it says.

_Sorry I had to go, I had an early meeting, and you looked too peaceful to wake up - but I had a really great time with you. Text me, we should get together sometime when we're not as wasted. Ha ha._

Followed by a smiley face – a _fucking_ smiley face. And at the bottom, his name, _Niall_ , and phone number.

He reads it again, and again, but the words never change.

So. Zayn is an idiot.

Of course Niall left, this morning, after Zayn told him he never got his number. That's like the oldest lie in the book. Niall must hate him – well, he must have hated him when he didn't call, and even though he'd been friendly since they've been working together, there's no way that whatever he's grown to like about Zayn over the past weeks hasn't been erased now. Fuck, Zayn didn't even say anything, just dragged him to his flat, and that was it. Of course Niall left, and this time for real and without saying a word.

Zayn understands, but that doesn't change the hole clawing open in his chest now that Niall is gone. He runs his finger over Niall's name before thinking better of himself and sitting up. He'll probably never even talk to him again.

He hears a sound coming from outside the room. It takes him a moment to register the laughter coming from the kitchen – it sounds like Louis, yes, but there's also another, gruffer and cackly and undeniably Niall. _Niall._

He resists the urge to jump out of bed and instead carefully stands up. He quietly pads to the bathroom first; he makes sure his hair looks something reasonable, brushes his teeth. And then he takes a deep breath and goes out.

Louis' eyes immediately shoot up, and he gives him a wicked grin. “Zayn! Look who's been keeping me company here!”

"I thought you went home with Harry," Zayn retorts weakly, leaning against the counter, and Louis' grin softens a bit, his cheeks flushing faintly red.

"I did," he says, and if his stomach didn't feel like it was full of angry hornets, Zayn might want to coo at the way his voice has softened. "But he had to go to campus this morning, for something." He flicks back his hair like a nervous teenager thinking about a crush, and Zayn makes a mental note to taunt him about it next time the opportunity arises.

"Anyway, actually," - Louis is blushing again- "I'm going to meet him at his in a bit - he's making brunch."

"Mate, I hope you're hungry," Niall grins. "’Cause his pancakes are the most delicious thing you'll ever eat."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll be high on my list," Louis' voice returns to its normal, slightly obnoxious tone, as he waggles his eyebrows, and Niall barks out another laugh. Louis rises from his chair. "Speaking of which. I gotta have a shower. Seeya," he sing-songs, and Zayn doesn't miss the terribly blatant wink he throws toward him.

Niall turns. He watches Zayn carefully, expectantly, but Zayn feels like his mouth is stuffed full of cotton balls. What is he supposed to say?

Niall clears his throat, looking a little nervous. “So, I don't know if I remember everything from last night. I was wasted – well, you know. But I know the gist of it, I think. Of what I said. And it's true. I really, really like you, have since – well, you know - and more, really, now that I actually know you better. But I'm sorry if it bothered you. I'll be your mate, too; if that's what you want, then that's okay.” Silence. “But I don't - “ his eyes are pleading, now. “I wish you'd say something. I don't know what you're thinking?”

Zayn takes a breath and tries to prepare himself. Might as well cut straight to the point. “So, uh. I didn't see the note you left. The first time. You know.”

 _“_ What?”

Fuck, Zayn feels his face grow hot. “I kinda have a bad habit of knocking things off my nightstand. I must've hit it off that morning, and not noticed. I only found it now, this morning, when I hit my phone off, actually, and went to get it.”

Niall blinks. Zayn needs to go on. He focuses his eyes on a freckle on Niall's hand. Fuck, even his hands are beautiful.

 _“_ I really like you, too. Have since the first time we met, and.” He sighs. “I kept, dreaming about you, like. And thinking about how I could find you, but I didn't know how. And I figured, you know. It was a one-time thing, for you, since you just left in the morning without saying anything.”

 _“_ And when you started working next to me, I thought, maybe I could try to get over it, or whatever, ignore you or be just a friend. But I just couldn't. I just kept going on, liking you more.”

He finally dares to look up at Niall, his eyes shining blue and mouth slightly agape. The tension in the air stretches taut between them until it snaps when Niall _laughs._

It's loud and unexpected. _“Seriously_? You lost my note. That's why - “ he waves his hands in the air to complete the sentence, and Zayn knows exactly what he's trying to say.

Zayn nods, apologetic and embarrassed, and Niall chuckles again. But when he looks back up, Niall looks more serious and gentle; he's walking around the table to Zayn. He stops a distance away and just looks at him for a moment before he speaks, soft.

 _“_ Can I kiss you, then?” His hair looks fluffy and unkempt, and the light pouring through the kitchen window lights it up like a halo.

 _“_ Yes,” Zayn finally manages, and then he can't wait anymore; he closes the gap between them. Niall's lips are so warm and soft, and the kiss is gentle, almost hesitant, during the first stretched-out few seconds. It's everything Zayn remembers, but also so much more. He feels how slow Niall's lips move against his, Niall's smooth face rubbing against Zayn's stubble, the warmth of his hand cupping against his cheek. He pushes forward and it grows more fervent; Niall stands on his tiptoes and wraps his arms around him, and Zayn tangles a hand up through his hair, pushing his head harder toward him as they try desperately to get closer, _closer._

When they finally separate, breathless and still brushing noses, Niall's pupils are blown with lust, his lips red, and his breath ghosts over Zayn's chin. Zayn shivers and runs his thumb down Niall's jaw.

 _“_ Why would you ever even think I wouldn't call you? Christ, Niall.” His voice sounds as raw and desperate as he feels.

“I dunno. You were drunk, and I was drunk, and I'm not... you know.” Niall shrugs, easily, with a nervous chuckle. “And I hadn't ever, before." He looks up, a small grimace escaping his lips. "Thought maybe I gave you a terrible blowjob, or something.”

“You didn't.” Zayn growls, because _no._ “Definitely not terrible.” He reaches for Niall's face again and sees something flashes across Niall's eyes.

“Okay,” is all he says, and his voice is deeper, accent thick. And then he kisses him again, harder and deeper, pushing him up against the counter. He tugs Zayn's hair, and Zayn's hips buck forward involuntarily to push into Niall's. Niall is hard, he realizes; he can feel it even through both their trousers. Zayn's half-hard, too - both of them, already, just from this. Then Niall returns the gesture, arching his hips forward to slowly grind against him, and Zayn can't think anymore. He just watches Niall's eyes squeeze shut in concentration as he ruts against Zayn's thigh, breathing hard and pushing desperately for more friction.

Zayn tries to do a quick mental calculation. He can still hear the shower running, at least, and Louis _does_ tend to have long showers. So they have at least a little more time, probably; his lust-addled brain certainly thinks so. He pulls back for a moment and runs his hands with purpose down Niall's body, his muscular shoulders, firm chest, soft sides. Finally he hooks a thumb on his trousers and deftly undoes the button there, feeling Niall's sharp intake of breath at the touch. He leans in for another kiss while he reaches his hand in to palm Niall through his briefs. He's so hard, and Zayn can feel a growing spot of wetness through the thin fabric. He rubs with more force, and Niall lets out a moan and thrusts his hips up to push into Zayn's hand.

He moves his hand up and into Niall's briefs to finally slide his hand around him, warm and slick. Niall's choked gasp goes straight to his groin, and he bucks forward against Niall's crotch and his own hand; he's painfully, unbearably hard and desperate for his own friction. But then, Niall's hands snake forward, brushing momentarily against Zayn's sensitive stomach, and move to undo Zayn's fly. Niall wastes no time; his hand dives into Zayn's pants to settle in a loose grip around him. He moves at a tortuously slow pace and Zayn lets out a gasp of his own.

“Fuck,” Niall murmurs, and Zayn thrusts weakly into his hand as he tightens his own grip, speeding up the motion, pressing harder. The noise Niall makes has him shuddering, and he feels Niall's body tense up, his breathing grow more rushed. “I'm gonna -“ he feels Niall tense again and gasp as he releases into his hand. He tries to stroke him through it, but then Niall does this thing where he twists his hand and squeezes, just hard enough, and that, along with the sight and feeling of Niall coming in his hand, pressed against him, combine to get him off harder than in a long time, even as Niall hasn't come down from his own aftershocks.

He slumps into the release and moves to kiss him again, between ragged breaths. They kiss, sloppy and lazy and slow, until their breaths even out again. Finally Niall's eyes flutter open and he smiles up at Zayn, all rosy cheeks and crinkled eyes.

Only then does he realize, as his hazy mind clears, that he doesn't hear the shower running anymore. He doesn't _think_ he heard the door open, but he also can't be sure.

Niall must remember, too; the grin doesn't leave his face, but he giggles. “We're in the middle of your kitchen.”

“Yes, we are.” Zayn tries to be concerned, but he can't help but chortle. “C'mere,” he leads Niall to the sofa and hands him some tissues to attempt to wipe off the mess on both of their hands and trousers and stomachs, before they reluctantly zip themselves back up.

Zayn hears the bathroom door open, then – thank fuck – and Louis' footsteps fade into his room. He's just going to get dressed, then, so they have a few minutes before he comes back out here.

Zayn glances back at Niall. The tissues helped a bit, but both of their trousers and shirts are still visibly sticky and stained. If they're lucky, Louis will just walk out the door without coming behind the sofa to see more than their faces, so they might still be off the hook. Then again, he thinks as he looks at Niall, their faces aren't exactly convincing, either. He still has pink-flushed cheeks, and his neck looks sweaty, hair disheveled, lips red and swollen. And Zayn's sure he looks just as bad, if not worse, himself.

Niall sees him taking him in and offers a lopsided grin. “We still kinda look like we just got off in your kitchen, don't we?” Zayn nods, but as bad as that fact bodes for Louis' presence, it's also kind of insanely hot. So Zayn ducks his head and they kiss again, long and slow, with Zayn turned against the arm of the sofa and their arms wrapped around each other.

When he opens his eyes for a moment, Zayn catches a figure in the corner of his eye. Louis is casually combing his hair in the doorway, clearly having been watching them for at least some time. He just shrugs and walks straight at them to poke Niall playfully in the cheek.

“So can I tell Harry everything's good? Shit move, by the way, not telling him the full story – he was feeling pretty shitty when I told him that the mystery party shag you'd been talking about was the one and only _Zayn_ , and he didn't know it.” Niall shrugs and Louis continues. “What took so long, anyway? I could feel the sexual tension practically _dripping_ off of you when you so much as looked at each other. Thought this should've happened ages ago. Why'd you just leave little Zaynie here to fret about it for so long?”

Oh, right. _That_ small detail. Niall bites his lip and looks at him expectantly, and Zayn casts his eyes downward and tries to steady his voice.

“Well, I, uh. Maybe lost the note he left me, behind my nightstand. With his name and number. So.”

Louis blinks in silence for a moment before just bursting into maniacal laughter. “No shit?” He says between laughs. “Wow, you are an _idiot_.” When he stops laughing, at least mostly, he turns to Niall. “So can I tell Harry you got a happy ending?” Louis realizes what he said a beat too late, but he just waggles his eyebrows. Meanwhile, Niall and Zayn freeze for a moment and look at each other. Niall's face has turned a few shades redder, and he giggles as Zayn stammers. Louis' eyes flit between them, and Zayn catches the moment the realization flashes on his face.

“ _Zayn_!” His eyes widen above his toothy smile. “I, for one, am _scandalized_.” Zayn tries to scowl at him, but Louis just brushes it off. “Then again, I dunno - maybe you deserve it. I'm not the one who's fucking been _pining_ for a month and a half because I never found the fucking note he left. Seriously?” He shakes his head. “I can't believe that. Oh, and Liam, too – he was getting all _concerned,_ he had no idea why you two were acting so fucking weird last night.”

Zayn groans. Leave it to Liam to completely miss the twisted failure of a love story taking place literally right in front of him over the past two weeks.

“At least I have you now?” Niall smiles up and snakes his arm around his waist, and Zayn leans into the touch.

Louis looks between them again and shakes his head incredulously. “Well I'm going to go, now. Have fun, you idiots. Zayn, when you go to propose, don't accidentally lose the ring under the sofa cushion, or something,” he cackles out the door.

Zayn sighs. He may be setting himself up for a lifetime of mockery from his friends. From Louis and Niall, certainly. Harry and Liam, even.

Niall squeezes his shoulder again, reassuringly, but he appears unable to help himself from grinning. “I'm sure you'd find it eventually.” He pats Zayn's back.

Yes, his own personal team of mockers. Excellent.

Then again, if, minutes later, he ends up gasping pushed against the shower wall, Niall's lips wrapped firmly around his cock - well, it's more than worth it.

\----

\----

Zayn wakes up to an empty bed. It takes a moment for his mind to catch up and clear his confusion. Right - Niall had that Spanish Society thing today, and he had to go help get ready at 8 in the morning.

It's only 9 now, but the sunlight is flooding the room through the window, illuminating the walls in squares of bright yellow. Or – wait. Zayn rubs his eyes. The walls are yellow, yes, but they look _too_ yellow for sunlight.

He sits up and rubs his eyes again, leans to look more closely and see if it's what he suspects.

It is, and he suppresses an eyeroll even as a smile threatens to escape his lips. The wall beside his bed is covered – _covered –_ in yellow notes, each one taped to the wall neatly on the top and bottom.

 _“_ Good morning!” Reads one of the ones closest to his head.

 _“_ I hope you see these notes!” says another, and he can almost hear Niall cackling as he wrote it.

 _“_ I didn't want you to be confused that I was gone!”

 _“_ I had to go early to help with the Spanish fair!”

 _“_ I'm not gone forever!”

The next one just has a goofy-looking smiley face.

Zayn surveys each of them as they trace a curvy grid down the length of the wall. Some of them just say “Hello” or “Hola” or “Good morning!” or repeat where he is.  Some of them have hearts or shamrocks or smiley faces or other cute little Niall-ish drawings. One has a hastily-drawn cartoon face with long eyelashes popping out from the eyes and a big, swoopy quiff. Zayn shakes his head fondly as he reaches the last three sticking out the end of the grid.

 _“_ Happy 1-month anniversary!” says the third-to-last note. Zayn can't help the fond smile tugging on his lips. His boyfriend can be so sappy sometimes, but Zayn secretly loves it. And he can't judge, anyway; after all, he can't help but go all sappy around Niall sometimes, too.

His eyes flit over to the penultimate one. It's just covered in an array of drawings of smiley faces and hearts and hearts _with_ smiley faces. He giggles.

 _“_ I love you,” says the last one, and he feels himself smiling so wide that if anyone saw him right now, they would think he was absolutely crazy.

Well, maybe he is.

Zayn takes out his phone and starts a text to Niall, though he knows he probably won’t be able to read or respond right now.

 _“_ You're a menace!” he sends first.

Followed by a stream of unimpressed emoji faces.

Followed by, “I love you, too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! [Tumblr](http://shipsdrift.tumblr.com)


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